


She Was a performer

by yarboyandy



Category: Batman (1966), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred is a good grandfather, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, He just wants ppl to be proud of him (mostly bruce and alfred), Oh also, Pre-Canon, Romani Dick Grayson, Trans Dick Grayson, dick is dramatic, so before Dick knows Bruce is batman, this is the most self indulgent fic I've ever done, well he's trying hard to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarboyandy/pseuds/yarboyandy
Summary: Performing as an Acrobat was easy compared to performing as a happy girl. Before he was Dick Grayson, he was Naomie Grayson, a performer





	She Was a performer

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Welcome to the one fanfiction I post every month. Skools hard! But I'm taking a break from theater to have some time to myself!  
> Here's the promised trans fic! Lemme just say....this did not come out the way I wanted it to. But I'm happy with it? (question mark?) Like always, this has largely been written in school...when I should have been doing my actual work. Who cares, I have all B's anywayz.
> 
> For a large chunk of this fic, Dick is known as "Naomie" and is described with she/her pronouns. As a trans guy myself, I wasn't sure how to really write this surprisingly!  
> Anyways, enjoy and make sure to comment what u thought! Next I'll probably do a Green Hornet fic or something, maybe a chapter fic? Who knows!
> 
> Update: *publishes fic, gets in shower. Gets out of shower to edit said fic* now with more stuff! Wow!  
> Update 2: I felt like this was missing something so new stuff added thankz!  
> SIDE NOTE: I tried to write Dick not knowing much english. After reading up about how to write characters who spoke little english/with an accent, I think i did an okay job? If not, tell me and I'll fix it!! I'm not tryin' to offend anyone! Thanks!

Naomie Grayson was a performer. For as long as she could remember, the sight of a packed audience gasping in anticipation as she pushed every limit in her body to pull off death defying stunts was a nightly occurrence for her. She was a performer, one of the best ones in the Circus. The headlines thought the same, the posters of her and her parents practically flying through the air thought the same. Her purpose was to please, and she was doing a damn fine job at it.

outside of the center ring, she kept her hair short. Short enough to stay out of her eyes at least. She’d turn to her mothers fashion magazines for hair ideas, but found herself gravitating to the younger mens hairstyles rather than the pixie cuts the girls had to offer. The clown who cut her hair was too busy complaining about the fact that the balloons Haly kept buying weren’t making good enough balloon dogs to notice it.

Her regular outfit outside of her performance costume was a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, not wanting to dirty any nice dress or skirt. That way, she could tumble and jump around all she wanted. Her parents never gave any of it much thought, being too busy with their trapeze act to care. Instead, they allowed her to continue on with her more masculine appearance. 

She was a performer, and she was eager to please. People were fine with her masculinity, as long as she was able to bend her body in horrific ways. She was happy that way, feeling a small bit of excitement in her chest when people had mistaken her for a small boy. Sometimes, with her very loose understanding of english, she was able to read that the newspapers for whatever town they were in reported her as “The youngest son of the Graysons”.

But her last performance was her worst. She broke character. Acrobats were supposed to scream as their parents fell three stories down onto the unforgiving concrete below. She watched as her parents crumpled onto the floor, taking her happiness and career down with her. 

In return for dead parents, she got Bruce Wayne. He was a millionaire playboy, meaning she saw him more in the papers than in real life. Despite his frequent absences, she understood there were certain expectations for her performance now resting on her small shoulders. Ones she would happily meet if that meant getting attention from her new guardian.

“By the time fall comes, she’ll practically be an American girl.” Bruce said to Alfred, behind the closed doors of his study. Alfred had told her never to enter that room. Naomie was tucked under the small lamp table, trying to ignore the voice of her mother scolding her for eavesdropping. “The media will have no idea she’s not a Wayne.”

“Americanization?” The butler questioned. “Won’t that be...a little difficult? Her english is a bit rusty.”

“She’ll be fine, by the end, We’ll have a miniature Dorothy Gale. Just let the hair grow out and put her in a few dresses, by the time she makes public appearances her english will cover up the accent.”

Naomie frowned at the words “long hair” and “dresses”. She wasn’t very much into the idea of being more feminine, seeing she had happily lived being masculine her entire life. But she remember the look on Bruce’s face when she entered the kitchen in her faded blue jeans and her father’s old plaid shirt. She remembered she was a performer, and performers were there to please people. And if a millionaire who just adopted her was handing her a script, she was going to give a stellar performance.

The next day, Alfred presented her with a dress. It had a pink top with a rounded white collar. The skirt and short sleeves were also white, with a smock sewn across the chest. Naomie smiled, commenting in her best english that the dress looked very pretty, but she didn’t know if she wanted to be pretty. But she removed her jeans and shirt and slipped into the new dress.

“I look…” she sucked her teeth in as she twisted to look at herself in the mirror. “Ciu- no.” She bit her lip trying to remember the right word. She snapped her fingers a few times before turning to Alfred for help.

“Cute?” Alfred chimed in, a hopeful smile on his face.

The dress didn’t feel right. It awkwardly hugged her body, even though it was her size. Her legs felt weird being so free, and her she just didn’t like the way she looked in it. But being the performer she was, she kept her emotions inside.

“Yes.” She lied. though it sounded more like “des”.  
She did her best to give a genuine smile. It must of worked, seeing she was given knee socks and black flats next.

____________________

That night, Naomie found out who Dorothy Gale was. The Wizard of Oz was playing on channel four, she had missed the twenty minutes, but didn’t mind. She was struggling still to understand some of the back and forth, despite Alfred’s tutoring in english.

Now Naomie understood why Bruce brought that name up, That lady was as American as apple pie. With his brown curly hair and rosy cheeks, and a smile full of pearls. Her english was perfect, never stuttering for a moment or needing to snap her fingers to remember a word. She was one hell of a performer, one that Naomie was set out to be. 

But the more she watched, the more Naomie realized she didn’t want to do this performance. At first, she understood the struggle Dorothy had, being thrown into an unfamiliar place and desperately wanting to go home. But once Naomie realized that Dorothy was happy even though she was in an unfamiliar landscape, Naomie was confused. Dorothy was performing because she wanted to, for herself. Not for other people. She seemed happy in her own skin, something Naomie was beginning to become jealous of.

“Watching Wizard of Oz?” Bruce appeared in the living room. “I loved that movie when I was your age. Isn’t Dorothy a doll? You kind of look like her.”

She felt uncomfortable being compared to another girl for some odd reason. Her whole life she had been a girl sure, but never been directly compared to one. Especially a movie star on TV. Bruce meant the comment as a compliment, but it left a gross feeling in her stomach. But she was a performer, even if she didn’t want to be.

“I liked deh Munchkins.” She mumbled, fiddling with the hem of her dresses skirt. “Do dey come back?”

Bruce forced a smile, ruffling her hair before excusing himself to his study. She had said the wrong thing. She botched the scene. Bruce was disappointed. She could look like Dorothy, but not perform like her. Naomie curled her legs closer to her chest, trying her best to focus on the movie. But it was getting hard to shake off the feeling of disappointment that settled in her chest.

The feeling only got worse when she noticed how long her hair had gotten when brushing her teeth that night. Her bangs now almost reached her eyes, and the back of her hair made it halfway down her neck before curling slightly. It had never been that long before, in fact, it was now annoyingly long. Constantly brushing her bangs out of her sightline was becoming very aggravating.  
It took a lot of willpower not to impulsively cut it all off with the scissors kept in her desk drawer. Instead, she asked Alfred if he could get her a hairband tomorrow.

returning to her mirror, she looked over herself again. Almost unrecognizable-to herself at least. The dress didn’t feel right, none of them did. She missed her jeans and her father's old shirts. The long hair made the back of her neck scratch. Those flat shoes were absolute murder on the balls of her feet and pinched her toes, and she began to hate the sound of her own name.

She hated this performance. Quite frankly, she hated being a girl.

 

“You’ve been awfully quiet this morning, Master Naomie.” Alfred said that morning at Breakfast. “Elbows.”

“Scu-sorry.” She mumbled, taking her arms off the table top. “I just thinking is all.”

“I was, you need was in there.” Alfred corrected, washing the dishes. “What's been on your mind?” 

Naomie stirred her oatmeal, not sure how to explain her thoughts. She had woken up with the same feeling she had the night before, leaving her not too hungry. 

“It just….”She spooned her oatmeal, watching it spill over the spoon and plot back into the bowl. “I feel Mr. Wayne does not like me. He never home, I’m trying very hard to be good...but it is not enough?”

“Master Naomie.” Alfred sighed, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You’re efforts are not going unnoticed, you adjusted to the lifestyle flung at you very well, especially given the unfortunate circumstances. Master Bruce is just...busy with other engagements. But he cares about you very much. All that matters is that you’re happy.”

But she wasn’t happy. She hadn’t been happy in four weeks. She was performing the role of a happy little girl. But all she felt like was a sad, pathetic little boy.

“Do you think Mr. Wayne would spend time with me soon?” she asked hopefully, before Alfred could answer, thee buzz of the radio filled the air.

“Batman, known protector of Gotham, just returned The Joker to Arkham. More updates to come, brought to you by The Daily Sentinel.”

“I’ll make him some time.” Alfred smiled, returning back to his dishes. “I’m positive he’ll have some new found free time.”

Naomie couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Batman, a mysterious man Bruce had mentioned a few times. Now there's a performance she’d like to give. No one knew who Batman was, meaning he could be whoever he wanted to be. No one ever asked him to be something he didn’t want to, all he had to do was punch a few bad guys and take a picture for the papers. 

“You think Batman wants partner?” Naomie asked, shoveling another spoonful of now lukewarm oatmeal in her mouth while she swung her feet back and forth.

“Don’t get any ideas.” Alfred chuckled.

________

She double checked her hair in the mirror. It looked girly enough with the hair clip in it now to keep the bangs out of her face. She chose to wear the navy blue dress, seeing as Bruce liked that color too. Even though it made the pit in her stomach grow, at least Bruce was going to be pleased. She was a performer of course, and her job was to please.

Tonight was going to be perfect. She spent the entire day working on her english, she practiced smiling in the mirror to make sure her right eye didn’t squint when she smiled, and she made sure to hide her accent the best she could when she spoke. Bruce and Her were going to see a movie, a disney movie at that. She commented earlier that she had never seen one, prompting him to suggest they see One Hundred and One Dalmatians. It didn’t matter what they did in all honesty, all that mattered was Bruce was finally going to be proud of her.

But as she rounded the corner to Bruce’s study, the sound of a rather heated conversation came from the other side.

“You know she’s going to be very disappointed.” Alfred hissed behind the door. Naomie ducked under the table again, her heart began to pick up knowing they were talking about her. “She’s been asking where you are for ages.”

“I have to Alfred, Gotham needs me.” Bruce sighed, Naomie heard a soft click, then a hard slam.

“It’s very obvious she isn’t happy here.” Alfred said in an angry tone. “She’s been stuck in this house for over a month, worried she’s not good enough to be in your life as you run around the city and dance with those crazy people.”

She didn’t want to admit Alfred was right. She was a performer after all, one performing being happy. But that sick feeling in her stomach told her he was right.

“You know how important crime fighting is to me.” Bruce replied sharply. “She fine, I still think it’s too soon. Her english is still poor, and her hair is not at her shoulders yet. She’s not feminine enough yet, by the time school starts up she’ll be ready.”

Naomie clenched her fists, the sadness in her stomach now began to boil in anger. She was doing so well, she was wearing the stupid dresses and smiling. By all accounts, she was Dorothy Gale. She’d like to see Bruce Wayne learn a whole other language in a month. She was so upset that she had completely forgot what Bruce had said first.

“You can’t keep doing this to her, disappearing and reappearing only to make her feel worse about herself.” Alfred said. “She’s been trying so hard, and she’s doing so well. The least you could do for her is to take a night off and be with her.”

“Maybe what would help is a new name.” Bruce responded, Noamies eyes popped. “Nora? Nina? Something American. It could help speed the process along, get her into character.”

She snapped. She had been playing this damn character of a girl for a month. And she was sick and tired of moping around and waiting for Bruce to notice her. She was a god damn performer, and if Bruce didn’t like the show, she could change it.

“NO!” She shouted Dramatically, pushing the doors open to the forbidden room. Bruce and Alfred spun around, a surprised look on both of their faces. She was a performer, she was good enough to go off script. It was show time. 

“I am tired of trying to please you! I do everything you want, but it’s never right! I am tired of this act, even Alfred knows my Performance is weak!” She shouted, her finger pointing out to Alfred. “Everyday I do what I am supposed to, I put on dress and fake smile, I act like Dorothy! But It not good enough for you!”

“Dorothy?” Bruce questioned, but Naomie wasn’t done, there was still more script. 

“You don’t know me! You never have! You too busy with people who know how to be like Dorothy, you don’t even want people to know about me! You barely even know me!” This was a perfect performance, very dramatic. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t taken a page from The women's performance on The Twilight Zone from the night before. “If you did, you’d know I hate this dress! I hate this hair, I hate being girl! I want to be boy!”

She took a few huffed breaths, her body shaking. Her once scrunched face began to soften as she saw the dumbfounded look on both of the men’s faces. She had gone too far, she had said too much. She gave the wrong performance. She felt a wet sensation on her face. Looking down she saw small, darker discolorations in the carpet. She was crying. Oh god she was crying.

“Oh no…” she clapped her hands over her mouth. “No I-I so sorry.” She winced, before spinning around and booking it back to her room, ignoring Alfred’s calls.

Slamming the door shut, and ripped the dress off before throwing it across the room. She tugged at the roots of her hair, biting her lower lip as to hold back a sob. Her eyes began to fill again, burning her eyelids as they threatened to spill over. She was a performer, and she had messed up her chances again. There was no way Bruce would keep her now. She was a circus freak, not some rich man's pet. She was a performer, who stood in an all too big room in a training bra and underwear, with hair that didn’t look right at all. 

If Bruce Wayne was going to send her back to the Circus, she might as well be ready to go back on the trapeze. She didn’t need any of this hair anymore. She didnt want this hair anymore. Taking the pair of scissors that sat in her desk, she went into the bathroom. Squeezing the back of her hair into her fist, she forced the scissors over the large ball of hair. After a few moments of force, the hair gave way, leaving her with a flutter of small hairs to go down her back and onto the bathroom floor. Alfred was going to have a fit, but she didn’t care. It felt like hundreds of pounds had been taken off her small shoulders. She was now giving a new dramatic performance. Alfred had said it himself, all that mattered was her happiness. Her happiness now laid in being a boy.

He continued to snip away at his hair, the piles of long locks collected at his feet. He didn’t even care what it looked like in the end, it just had to be short. It had to be him, not Dorothy, not Naomie.

In the end, his hair was springy and choppy, the back was a mess.But he gave the best performance he could, so he replayed the familiar sound of an applause in his mind.

Unhooking his training bra, he took out one of his father’s old T-shirts and put it over heard head. He was tired, he had given enough performances for the day. He curled under the beds soft sheets, his stuffed tiger against his chest. For the first time, he was going to sleep a boy.

_______

A soft knock at the door woke him up. He glanced over at the clocked that was positioned in the moonlight. It was three in the morning, a weird time to talk about that nights events, but a time nonetheless.

“You can come in Alfred, But I did something...bad” He scratched the top of his now short haired head.

To his surprise, Bruce pushed the door open. He held a book under his arm.

“Nice haircut.” he smirked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Let’s talk, alright?”

“You aren’t...mad at me? For yelling? Or the haircut?” Naomie asked sheepishly. “You’re sending me back to the circus are you?” 

“believe me, you could have done worse.” Bruce chuckled. “And I already signed the adoption papers, I’m stuck with you.” 

There was a beat of silence as Naomie looked at his twisted sheets, avoiding eye contact with Bruce.

"How long have you...felt this way? About wanting to be a boy?" 

"My whole life I think." Naomie nodded. "I kept hair short for trapeze, girl clothes too expensive. I liked being called boy when I was with the circus." 

the silence came back, Bruce swallowed and fidgeted with the hem of the book, Naomie picked at a hang nail. 

“You were right about one thing, that I don’t know you.” Bruce sighed. “I’m sorry I’m not home, I really wish I was. I just….I have an important job. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of you. I’m gonna try to be home more, alright? You’re more important than any of my work, or any person in Gotham city for that matter.”

Naomie intertwined his fingers, not sure how to respond. He had probably said a lot of things that weren’t true back in the study. He didn’t mean for Bruce to feel bad. Well, maybe he did a little. But not that much.

“But if I’d known you were feeling this way, I wouldn’t have forced you to….be a girl. You can be anything you want, I don’t care. I Just want you to happy alright? I don’t want you to pretend to be something for me, or anyone else. You don’t have to be Dorothy, you can be whatever you want. We can work on this together, alright? Anything to make you feel good about yourself.”

“You mean that?” Naomie asked, looking up from his intertwined fingers. “But the news-”

“I can call in a few favors.” Bruce nodded. “Besides, Wayne Enterprises owns most of the media around here anyways. Nothing will slip by me.”

“But my name...the dresses.” Naomie sat up, crossing her legs to look at Bruce. “Won’t they…?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll take you to get some mens clothing. And to get that haircut fixed.” He ruffled the messy locks. “As for the name...that’s what’s this for.”

He pulled out the book from under his arm. It was a baby name book, the cover slightly worn with age.

“I thought we could pick one together. I’m not sure if there’s any Romani names in here, but we can find one we both like.”

“I’d like that.” Naomie smiled, shifting over to peer into the books pages with Bruce. “How about an ‘R’ name? My parents used to call me ‘Robin’, maybe something close to that?”

“How about…” Bruce hummed a few names under his breath, his finger trailing down the list of names. His finger halted at one of the names “how about Richard? Dick for short?”

“Hmmm…” He pondered it for a moment. “I think dat’ll work.” He smiled.

“Alright, Dick it is.” Bruce shut the book. “Tomorrow, you and I can go get the new clothing.”

“But….too soon? My English is not very good yet.” Dick asked in a weary tone. Bruce stuck his hand up. 

“Don’t worry, Chum. We’ll take it one step at a time.” 

Dick smiled, tucking back under the blankets of the bed. His bed. “Good night, Bruce.”

“Night kiddo.”

For the first time, he felt welcomed in the home. Not the performance he gave, but himself, the performer. He was good, he only broke his character once, and it paid off. No more dresses or fake smiles, no more hair clips that pinched on his fingers. No more worrying about if Bruce or Alfred thought he was good enough, if they were happy with his performance. He was a performer, one that was happy now with the new performance he started. 

He was a performer, and he was still good at his job.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed comment what you thought and what You wanna see next! Like I said, I want to write a green hornet '66 fic soon, so comment if u wanna see that. If not, comment some other ideas and I'll credit u if I write it? Thankz a bunch!


End file.
